


Ablaze

by lexicalacuna



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fairytale romance, Found love in a hopeless place, Making this up as it goes, Redemption, Romance, Vivid scapes, Wistful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicalacuna/pseuds/lexicalacuna
Summary: An isolated heir apparent finds his redemption in the arms of a young dancer.A fairytale in 4 parts, inspired by AfterBlossom's art.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	1. gilded hallways and their shadowed alcoves

**Author's Note:**

> Just setting the stage- the stories will follow the art posted by afterblossom, who has done a magnificent job of painting such a vivid world.
> 
> Please check it out!  
> https://twitter.com/_afterblossom_/status/1342790344715354113/photo/1

**Chapter I: gilded hallways and their shadowed alcoves**  
  
Prince Benjamin Organa Solo.  
  
Son of Leia Organa, the Jedi Princess. Son of Han Solo, the Master Bandit.  
  
He was the Master of the Knights of Ren, trained by the mythical Jedi Luke Skywalker.  
  
And the Heir Apparent to the throne.  
  
The Dark Prince.  
  
Princess Leia had married beneath her, an infamous bandit who tried to steal the Padawan Jewels, only to be swept off his feet (literally) by the iron willed princess who was adamant on proving her mettle.  
  
Their love story was a beloved romantic fable that was often retold time and time again by crackling fires to captive audiences both young and old, their eyes glazing over with a hazy wistfulness as they heard the tale as old as time.  
  
But that’s the problem with tales and other stories of fiction- they’re often made more...palatable for the masses. A silken balm meant to rally the people around a slowly crumbling monarchy.  
  
A monarchy that was singularly propped by the monolithic entity that was the Prince, after the Princess and her husband perished in a bloody battle that claimed a good chunk of the nation. A battle that only ceased when the Prince himself acquiesced to the enemy’s request by turning over the Padawan Jewels...and plunging a sabre through his father’s heart.  
  
That was the day the stories stopped. Gone were the hushed retellings of an epic romance, because everyone knew that it was fated to end in death- a tale of romance now a tale of patricide. A genocide of the Organa- Solo family, for from the ashes of this tragedy rose the unerring spectre of Kylo Ren.  
  
Kylo Ren had secured the nation and a tentative victory.  
  
The nation resumed their lives with a hesitant optimism- always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Despite the losses, the nation found it self provided for, General Holdo made sure of that, ensuring that there were rations, subsidies, donations, shelter. Something to tide them through this recovery. But her hand of generosity was tempered by the knarled claws of Regent Snoke, who insisted that one had to be cruel to be kind. That cruelty was the key to maintaining order.  
  
Villages were razed overnight if they showed even a hint of rebellion. Any whispers of revolution were hastily stamped out in a blur of slicing sabres, the perpatrators burned and disposed of.  
  
Prosperity at a price, but the monarchy prevailed, that’s all that mattered.  
  
And the Prince? He watched, from his balconies, occasionally taking it upon himself to join a raid or two, to demonstrate his mettle as the Master of the Knights.  
  
But beyond these shows of bravado and strength...  
  
The prince was lonely.  
  
He was never alone- there was always a jumpy chambermaid just around the corner, stuttering her questions. A bossy tailor dragging a measuring tape across the reaching expanse of arms and chest, waxing lyrical about how he was growing up to be a strong young man. An old sparring partner who often whacked him around the shins to keep his wits about him. A soft spoken cook who brought in trays of steaming hot food to his chambers, quietly murmuring the day’s menu. Giggling bevies of eligible bachelorettes that often tried to block his path at balls. The state diplomat, who took the time to come by his study to explain the nation’s diplomatic vulnerabilities and military triumphs. A regent, who offered him counsel – both requested and unsolicited- on matters of the nation, his knotted hands always gripping the young prince’s shoulder a bit too tightly.  
  
No, there was absolutely no shortage of people who milled around him, always jostling for his attention, often recoiling or flinching away when he turned on them, curt, harsh, unyielding.  
  
Despite his mercurial, frigid exterior, Benajmin Organa-Solo was lonely. In the rare moments he was not accosted by the masses, he found himself walking around the palace grounds alone, quietly admiring the sheer, engulfing majesty of it all.  
  
Soaring Doric columns crowned with intricate glyphs and carvings of past triumphs. Staggering, majestic tiered chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dotted with flickering flames.  
  
He enjoyed his strolls in the evening, in that tenuous time between day and dusk, marvelling at the way the sunset melted onto the columns like molten gold, drenching everything in its path in a beautiful sheen of buttered brass. It calmed him to see the way the last beams of sun filtered through the slits of the palace, casting towering shadows against the gilded striations and swooping arches. He would sometimes close his eyes, his breathing syncopated by the soft clicks of his heels against the gleaming floors, the corners of his mouth twitching when he felt the light brush of wings against his shoulders.  
  
It was the only time he found peace, calm, amidst a cacophony of politics and battles- this was the time he found an unwavering peace that he selfishly hoarded, insisting on isolation.  
  
Anyone who saw the Prince on his evening walks would see a dark, spectral figure of black cutting through a forest of shimmering pinks and gold, occasionally leaning against a shadowed alcove, sighing as he glanced up into the expansive horizon, watching the beautiful canvas of pinks and gold melt into the unrelenting dark of the night.  
  
  



	2. for every shadow there is a light

Chapter 2: for every shadow there is a light

Rey’s life was defined by the absence of light. She didn’t like to call it the dark. That would have been an admission that there was a larger, more menacing entity at play. 

No. That would not do. 

Despite a lonely, hungry childhood without any family, Rey managed to carve out a slice of happiness for meagre life. 

She once watched a stray battalion of rebel soldiers training and imitated their actions, always a bit delighted and surprised when each strike of her fist or knee would cause a slight ripple in the leaves, a strange tremor in the ground. She fancied herself a magician, that each blow had an actual tangible reaction that shook nature to its core. She knew it was just make believe, an imagined impact. It had to be. 

But she did this in the wee hours of the morning or in the shade of night- it was frowned upon for girls to be warriors. They were instead nudged towards the softer arts- anything to make them into comely ladies who would one day secure a stable suitor. 

Rey knew this but stubbornly continued her training- she enjoyed the physical exertion as it provided reprieve from her life of toil and scraping by. She liked that it kept her limbs toned and tanned- it made her feel strong. And in the back alley vagaries of grimy Jakku, strength was paramount and necessary. 

It was only when Maz Kanata, the kindly textiles merchant noticed her training out back one day offered to take her under her wing that Rey began to embrace dance in her life. 

She spent her days toiling in the scrapyard to earn her keep, but her evenings were spent training with Maz, sinking into uneasy plies and turning hesitant pirouettes, working on her form. Her nights were reserved for herself- for her own training. She was not quite ready to give it up. 

She soon came to realize that dance and combat were not all that different- they both had an unspoken rhythm that accelerated or plunged at a moment’s notice, they both toned her legs, lending a pleasing definition to her legs and arms, carving taut, toned muscles in her elegant limbs. Dance taught her to focus, a resilient precision that she applied to her own combat training to much success. Her combat training primed her for the cruel repetitions of dance drills, the arches of her feet and the tips of her toes aching each night as she curled up to rest. She learned to embrace the aches and pains, to grow stronger in spite of the brittle stings of a worn body. 

One day, a tall, commanding lady swept in, all muscle and brawn, with the physique of a warrior. Yet she moved proudly, posture erect, elegant and fluid. Phasma was here to recruit the newest dancer’s for the palace’s troupe. All the girls huddled close, their voices hushed.

The empire disdained filth and poverty of any sort, so any dancer whose feet graced the gleaming tiles of the ballroom was always scrubbed and purged to an inch of their life, birthing fresh, soft-skinned dancers who lived in a desolate wing on the palace grounds. The girls were expected to rehearse day and night, in the art of dance, speech, singing and gymnastics- anything to keep the court entertained. Though gruelling, this life was not without its pleasures- every girl would be clothed, well fed and at the end of a long day, have a plush bedroll to herself, a warm fire to curl up next to. 

It was a coveted position that the tarnished urchins yearned for and trained for tirelessly, pushing their bodies to the limits, tolerating every callus and blister and sprain, all in the hopes of being whisked away to a life that was free of manual labour. 

Rey did her best, a few lapses in her form and routine betraying her lack of formal training. Phasma assessed her with a hawk’s gaze, her mouth flattening into flat line, nodding slightly in recognition of this diamond in the rough. 

Phasma left that evening with 4 girls in her coach, the sobbing of the snubbed hopefuls fading into the night. Rey sat in the back of the carriage, stunned. 

She was certain that her final turn and slight wobble would have doomed her chances, yet here she was, being ushered into the back of the palace. 

She moaned slightly as she bathed in the tepid, slightly warm waters in the washing quarters, scrubbing away at patches of hardened skin, sloughing off the days of grime and dust. She curled up in her bedroll that night, a grin on her face, her limbs clean and belly full. Perhaps this was the start of something more. 

Palace life had its struggles- Phasma did not go easy on them, whipping their limbs with a thin cane, bristling at their mistakes. But she was a fair and competent instructor, praising their progress and progress they did, quite rapidly, under her instructuion. Rey enjoyed the routine, the shelter...the illusion of family. 

The girls were wary and kept to themselves, constantly worried about this fragile new life being ripped from them. But there was a quiet understanding and they would help each other stretch, would sit together for dinner in silence, relishing the quiet company.

The girls were entitled to small pleasures- a soft macaroon every now and then, a tipple of sweet wine to warm their bellies in the evenings. The palace did not abide ugliness and the girls were dressed in a sleek white leotard, embellished with a lush, spilling skirt of tulle to wrap around their narrow waists in order to prepare for performances. They were given silken ribbons to accompany their new pointe shoes, specially designed tape to prevent blisters. They could not have the girls collapsing at every turn- they needed their investments to stay whole. 

It was a strange life of muted luxury and comfort, a far cry from the days of plucking scrap metal to trade for tokens. 

It was all nice but...a bit boring, if Rey were to be honest. She missed having time to herself, to dance as she wanted to, limbs flailing out of rhythm. She missed her combat training, missed the whistling breeze slicing across her arm as she struck the thin air in front of her. 

This longing prompted her to slip out and explore, quietly abandoning her bedroll to venture into the wilder parts of the palace, the neglected wings that no one went to. 

She wandered for a while, exploring dark corridors illuminated by faint moonbeams, gazing up at the soaring ceilings, the ivory glittering slightly in the light. She turned a corner and gasped, finding an old chapel overrun with sparse foliage that gleamed in the moonlight, a warm white glow that seemed to emanate from the branches and leaves themselves. 

She closed her eyes, smiling as she felt soft zephyrs whisper through the night, gently caressing her skin. 

She started her usual routine of punches and kicks, wincing whenever she struck a loose tile, hoping to not draw any attention to herself. She kept this up till well into the night, before exhaustion forced her back to her bedroll.

She returned every night, sometimes sneaking her tulle skirt with her, wanting to practice without the scrutiny of Phasma and her peers boring into her back. 

She would watch her shadow as she danced, a shadowy facsimile of her own movements, carefully watching to see if her movements were fluid, smiling at certain angles that flattered her form. She would then abandon her skirt, moving to her combat practice, striking the air, enjoying the corresponding ripples of light that moved as a wave through the trees. She would practice till the night was pitch, sitting to cool off before returning back to the dancers’ quarters.

This night was no different.  
She sighed, sitting on a broken column, glancing around her clandestine eden, enjoying her slice of solitude. 

Unbeknownst to her, a tall, dark figure leaned against a column, watching her curiously, his fist clenching and releasing, pondering over what he just saw.


	3. The warmth of a winter solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first encounter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update- it's been busy at work!
> 
> I'm so excited for these two to finally meet!!!

How was she doing this?  
  
He watched her rise on her toes, her body turning smooth arabesques, not noticing the faint ripples of energy and light strumming through the air as she did so, too fixated on her own form.  
  
He was on the verge of telling her off for wandering around the palace but his curiosity got the better of him when he saw her abandon her skirt. He swallowed thickly as she turned to place her skirt down, his eyes wandering over the curves of her form. She was lithe and petite, but she had a beautifully round and toned arse, shaped by hours of gruelling conditioning and training. She had long, willowy limbs that showed off a surprising amount of muscle when she went en pointe, her back muscles devoid of any inch of fat.  
  
His eyes wandered up her form, settling on her face, his heart stopping slightly. She had a beautiful jawline and prominent features, her elegant nice dusted with the lightest brush of freckles. Her eyes were almond shaped, bright and excited, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of her exercise. She was more than just strong, determined- she was beautiful.  
  
He watched her discard her skirt, surprised when she starts to execute a messy sequence of punches and kicks at an invisible foe, his chest tightening when he realized that the ripples of energy and light were even stronger this time, leaving the leaves and vines of the foliage trembling in their wake.  
  
How did this commoner command such effortless use of the Force?  
  
He was struck with anger and admiration all as once- her form was amateurish and yet the Force flowed through her movements effortlessly. She was one with the Force and she didn’t even know it.  
  
He watched her rise from her break, resuming her practices. He watched her stomp her heels and kick into the air, fist tightening with a acrid jealousy as she moved faster, punching harder with each consecutive strike. Each ripple of light and energy corresponded with the strength of the strike, glowing brighter and lasting for a few seconds longer.  
  
His ego wins out and he steps out of the shadows and holds out his hand, his own Force energy abruptly halting the impending wave of Force energy from her latest strike. The golden ripple of energy hits the impenetrable, inscrutable wall of his own Force, dissipating in a shower of faint golden sparks. He takes a decisive step towards her, the pent up anger and envy manifesting in a rumbling ripple of energy that reverberated through the courtyard, cracking a trail of old tiles as it hit her.  
  
Rey stumbled, losing her balance. She cursed, catching herself and spun around to see where this energy came from, gasping when she saw him.  
  
The Dark Prince.  
  
She had only heard stories about him- about how he killed his father, how he was a ruthless force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, mercilessly cutting down anyone foolish enough to be in his way. She stared for a moment, a deer in headlights, stunned over how to react.  
  
He stopped moving when she turned around, his breath catching in his chest when he got to see her up close, his gaze arrested by her own.  
  
He could see now that she had stunning, hazel eyes, cooled by flecks of brilliant viridian, framed by dark, long lashes. Her lips were soft, plush, flushed from her training. Her skin was a warm shade of gold, not too dark but definitely tanned from being out in the sun. She was so _beautiful._  
  
He immediately moved closer, his posture strident.  
  
She started, bending down to quickly swipe away her skirt, running out of the faint glow of the moonbeams and into the cloak of the darkness, heading straight back to her quarters.  
  
She had been caught.  
  
\---  
  
She doesn’t practice again the next night. Or the night after that. Not for the rest of the week. Not for the week after.  
  
It had been too close a call and the last thing she wanted was for this small piece of stability to be ripped from beneath her feet again. So she settled by the fires instead, making tentative conversations with the other girls who were hesitant but gradually opened up. They soon formed a friendship, recognizing that they had to survive in the palace as sisters, not adversaries. They took turns sharing stories about their lives, about how grateful they were to have a place to call home, even if it were temporary for now. They would share bits of roasted nuts, the cracking of the hard shells punctuating the soft giggles over their growing bond.  
  
Rey’s heart was fuller, but she couldn’t shake her close encounter from the other night.  
  
He had been so close. And he broke the ripple of her energy, creating his own. But that’s not all she kept thinking about.  
  
She thought about how tall he was, even from afar. He was a menacing figure decked in black, but she never expected him to have such a handsome face. The stories never mentioned that. She always felt a flush creep to her cheeks. So she held it in, pressing it down, throwing herself into her practice and stubbornly focusing on her friends.  
  
She wasn’t the only one frustrated.  
  
He had returned every single night after that, waiting and wandering- hoping to catch a glimpse of her again, to speak to her. His frustrations only mounted with each visit to the now forlorn courtyard.  
  
He gave up after the third week away from her.  
  
\---  
Rey smiled at her reflection, fingers gently pressing at the hair at her temples, smoothing down any flyaways.  
  
Winter had descended upon the grounds like a fluttering blanket of down, covering the reaching banisters and all the foliage in a thick sheet of snow, turning the imposing palace into a wintery wonderland, the snowy cornices glimmering in the sun and moonlight.  
  
The Winter Ball was held on the first day of the Winter Solstice to celebrate the turn in seasons. A neverending evening of feasting, dancing, music and drinking was on the agenda and Rey and the other dancers had a special item planned for the evening.  
  
Rey was dressed in a special dress for the evening’s festivities- it had a sweetheart neckline and a bodice made of chiffon, the swell of her breasts still discernible beneath the light layers of white. Her skirt was a flowing, billowy wonder made of tulle- just translucent enough that her legs were beautifully accentuated in their cotton soft tights.  
  
Her hair was pinned up into an elegant chiffon, held up by a careful scaffolding of hairpins. The sides of her head were graced with full, silky white blooms, complementing the entire ensemble.  
  
While stretching with the other dancers, Rey felt a similar leaping in his chest, quietly wondering if she would see the Prince from before. She could not identify if that feeling was fear or hope.  
  
\---  
  
She was here.  
  
She was _here._  
  
He watched her move across the floor, in perfect synchrony with the other dancers, each movement fluid and controlled, a moving melody. He watched her move, her mouth set in a thin line of determination, a small smile, the slight jump in her jaw muscle as she danced, careful to execute the choreography to the T.  
  
He clapped along with the rest, already slipping away to find her.  
  
The rest of the dancers were being praised by Phasma, given the go ahead to sit in the back of the kitchen with some smaller leftovers and dishes from the feast. Rey was nowhere to be found.  
  
He walked through the crowds, weaving through the thicket of nobles, looking for a blot of white in a sea of vibrant jewel tones.  
  
He wandered out to the balcony with a sigh, resting his hands on the banister as he gazed out onto the gardens, needing a reprieve from the throng of guests. He took in the landscape of foliage, dusted with white, faint fairy lights rippling through the bushes...  
  
He frowned, watching the fairy lights wax and wane, as if they were coming in a wave.... he glanced down, heartbeat accelerating when he saw her.  
  
She had stolen away from the party to soak in the scenery, twisting happy little arabesques and plies on the grandsteps, never slipping on the ice, revelling in the moonlight.  
  
He watched her arms gently slice through the air, lithe and strong, effortlessly shifting to pointe, her body ethereal and weightless. She had bits of snow caught in her hair, gently glinting in the glow of the night.  
  
He moved swiftly down the stairs, never taking his eyes off of her.  
  
When he finally reached the ground floor, he cleared his throat, watching her.  
  
She paused, turning to face him.  
  
He didn’t look angry this time, he was sure of it. How could he be, seeing her this free, this happy?  
His prior acrimony and jealousy about her abilities were eclisped by his curiousity, his thirst to know her.  
  
She stared at him approach her, a gloved hand extended.  
  
“Ben Solo,” he murmured, his voice a smooth baritone.  
  
She shook his hand, firm but uncertain, nodding at him.  
  
“Rey,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving his gaze.  
  
They stared at each other, each one struck by the magnitude of their meeting.  
  
“May I?” he says softly, gesturing for her to dance with him, his hand still holding hers. Not letting go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some...creative liberties with the pacing and characterization. A conclusion, please enjoy!

**Chapter 4: pas des deux  
  
** Warmth.  
  
That was the first thing she registered when he held his hands in hers. He had such a frigid disposition that she was almost expecting his grip to mirror that. So when his glvoed hand enveloped her own, she was taken aback at the pleasant warmth of him, felt even through his fine leather gloves.  
  
This small show of friendliness- however minor and...well, imagined, was all she needed to inch a little closer, her eyes transfixed on his face. Up close, she could study the proud aquiline slant of his nose, his strong features, his amber eyes that burned with the same curiosity she felt smouldering in her chest.  
  
She shuddered as he put a large hand on her hand, marvelling at how it almost spanned the small of her back. Not to mention his touch....it sent a curious thrill of warmth down her chest, making her clench her core, her thighs, just that much tighter.  
  
She put her other hand on his shoulder, mimicking the actions of the noble ladies she had seen earlier, nodding up at him, giving him a small, tentative smile. She gripped his shoulder a little tighter, nudging him on, marveling at the sheer architecture of his broad shoulders.

  
Ben froze slightly, not expecting her to acquiesce so easily, so quickly. He couldn’t help but notice how firm her form was, the hours of training whittling her form into beautiful shape. He unconsciously pulled her a little closer, noticing her small shudders, wondering if she was cold.  
  
His breath hitches slightly when she comes closer still, her breath coming out in small puffs between them, her gaze coyly studying him through her lashes. He wills himself to offer a small smile of sorts, the sides of his mouth turning up ever so slightly as he starts to lead them in a slow waltz, careful not to step on her toes.  
  
They fell into a cadence of movement oh so easily, their bodies swaying effortlessly to the soaring strains of the music, losing themselves in the dance. Her eyes never left his, challenging him, asking him silent questions she would have to find words to express later on. Her hand had somehow migrated from his shoulder to his neck, her grip firm but almost tender as she drew herself closer.  
  
Her breath was fanning across his cheek now, the way his hand now splayed across the expanse of her hip, resting at the top of her arse, holding her close to him. He was mildly aware of the way her fingers lightly kneaded the nape of his neck, the motion simultaneously comforting and arousing. He sighed, eyes fluttering a little as he enjoyed the feather light touches, the way her hand never left his.  
  
They were ensconced in their own little bubble, oblivious to the scintillating ripples of golden light bounding across the the gardens in great, lazy leaps, the intermingling of their Force energies manifesting in a brilliant show of lights that had a few curious onlookers peering down. They barely noticed the waltzing couple, both lost in the touch of another.  
  
\--  
  
They did not let go when the song ended. He should have, people would be watching. But something compelled Ben to hold her hand, surprising them both when his fingers threaded through hers, gently guiding her to a secluded part of the gardens so that they could speak in private.  
  
It was not an easy conversation- not for two individuals whose lives had such rich, contrasting tapestries and legacies. But her ebullient curiosity and his nobleman grooming kept the civility, edging their conversation from tentative small talk to deeper waters. Their pasts, their fears.  
  
Her hand never left his.  
  
By the end of the evening, they were seated side by side, her hand clutching his still, leaning against him in a bid to find refuge from the cold and her own loneliness.  
  
It takes the screech of an owl to snap them out of their reverie, realizing that the bulk of the music and chatter had died down. The moon hung full in the sky, her fecund lumniscence casting a milky glow against the darkening canvas of the night.  
  
Rey turns to Ben, about to ask him if it was time for them to turn in, to ask if they could speak again.  
  
She came face to face with him, their faces scarcely inches apart, his breath gently ghosting across her cheek. His gaze was heavy, flitting between her eyes and her lips, an unspoken question.  
  
Rey had lived a life of discipline to stay aflaot but in that moment, she relented, leaning forward to capture his lips in a sound kiss, moaning softly at the plushness of lips. At the way he held her to him, his lips hungrily seeking more.  
  
The snow had begun to fall, but the new lovers did not care, too busy tending to the their blossoming romance.  
  
A new tale was about to be written.  
  
 **The End.** **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A true fairytale ending, a happily ever after.  
> Thank you for sticking with me!


End file.
